


Blue Memories

by Orcbait



Series: NOIRcraft [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Drama, F/M, Murder Mystery, Noircraft AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 09:52:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4055608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orcbait/pseuds/Orcbait
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's tough being a cop past the age of forty. Your body can still take it, but your mind begins to go. Your seventh murdered family, your eighteenth double homicide, your twenty-sixth mob hit... You grow numb, it all becomes the same. You begin not only to fail in your duty; you fail the victims. "The right time to stop", old Telkar surmised before he did exactly that and left the force. It never got that far for me – that seventh family was my last.</p><p>We were first on the scene, Orgrim and I. An entire family massacred in cold blood: the work of a madman. It took us all of five minutes to find traces of fel magic. Five more tied them to me. The evidence was overwhelmingly unequivocal. I hadn't done it, but no one believed that, not even Orgrim. You see, I have my past against me and my word isn't all it used to be. But I'll tell you this: I didn't murder that family. I have not been near the demon blood in twenty years. I was set up."</p><p>- Grom Hellscream, New Stromgarde PD</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Memories

**A stumble down memory lane.**  
**Covered traces.**  
**The hunt begins.**

 

Night was falling and smog hung in the street as drizzle fell from the sky, giving the harsh mismatched urban landscape a softer, more flattering look. It was a lie, as was everything else in this Ancestors' forsaken city. Grommash Hellscream hadn't meant to return, but then he hadn't meant to do many things he'd done.

Although it had been more than a decade since he had left New Stromgarde, now that he was back it seemed as if nothing had changed. The ruined skyscrapers of Earth's New York still jutted defiantly up into the sky amid the familiar masonry of Azeroth's Stromgarde in a jarring mishmash of architecture. Two Human cities more different than any two he had ever seen before the clash of the two worlds.

Silvermoon Hotel & Spa was located in one such skyscraper, shimmering in the middle of the murky street like a bauble amid worg dung. Grommash pulled up across the block, eyeing the place from above the wheel. The little Human had told him Aleeria Stormseer now frequented this place in search of clients, rather than the Corner Club. If that were true, then the wily Draenei had certainly done well for herself since he'd left. It made him think of Orgrim, but he shook the wish to visit him. No need to bring trouble to his old friend's doorstep.

Grommash was looking for the Draenei because he'd learned she knew about the set up that had cost him his life in all but literal sense, and he was intent on finding out what. He considered the likelihood of the tiny pink weasel having lied to him, but stomped the doubt down. Aleeria would be here. If she wasn't, well, he might not quite remember the Human girl's name but he knew what she looked like and where she lived. Grommash climbed out of the old pick up, turned up the collar of his coat and he gave the murky sky a glare, as if that would make it stop raining. He crossed the street in no particular hurry, though jogged up the steps of the hotel's porch.

Grommash pushed open the heavy glass doors with a grunt and strode into the faux chic lobby as if he did so every day. He plopped down onto one of the leather corner couches, grabbed a magazine from the neat pile on the coffee table and put his feet up for good measure. It was a deco magazine that had clearly inspired the hotel's pastel and leather look. He doubted there were any better alternatives in the stack and at any rate, he had no intent of reading anyway.

He observed his surroundings from above the magazine. Though not crowded the lobby was far from empty. Mostly Orcs, some Humans and a Tauren too. Three ladies – two Night Elves and a Draenei – were drinking cocktails at the bar. Several suits played cards at a nearby table. The usual.

Then his gaze fell on the Orc leaning against the wall near the elevators. He wore black fatigues and body armour. A shotgun and warhammer hung on his back. Big guy, green like he used to be. Grey green, to be precise, his dark hair bound in two long braids. Clearly a Blackrock, but who? Grommash didn't quickly forget a face. He frowned when he saw the barcode-like tattoos across the Orc's forearms. One of Rehgar's cronies, what were they doing here?

Time passed slowly as he waited, minutes crawling past. It brought back memories of the many stake outs Orgrim and him had shared. They had spend so many hours waiting, watching, drinking coffee.

"Is this seat taken?"

Grommash glanced up at the petite Night Elf woman smiling at him. She was clad in a shimmering, violet gown, her blue hair pinned up in what was undoubtedly the latest fashion among her kind. The waft of strong, sweet perfume that accompanied her was a little off-putting. "Yes," he replied without batting an eye.

"You're waiting for someone?" She briefly had a look on her delicate face that suggested she wasn't used to being turned down, but then she smiled again. "I've seen you wait here for quite some time already, are you sure you wouldn't like a drink?"

Grommash snorted, trying to smell something beside her perfume as he looked her up and down. It was early yet. If Aleeria had already gone out it would be a while before she would return for the night, presuming she'd return at all.

"Who are you waiting for, hm?" the Night Elf inquired as she sat down neatly beside him, her slender thigh not quite touching his.

Grommash swung his legs from the table and tossed the magazine in its general direction as he turned towards her, a grin tugging around his tusks. "No one."

"Oh, is that so Grom Hellscream?"

The Night Elf's pleased smile froze on her lips, and not only because she recognised the voice, she recognised the name too. Grommash breathed in deeply through his nose in an attempt to control his annoyance before turning around. Surely enough, the blue Draenei he'd been staking out stood behind him as if conjured on the spot, a hand on her hip and a look on her face that spoke volumes. Behind them, the Night Elf made a quick and quiet exit before they remembered her existence, resolving to find less perilous waters to fish in.

"I was set up," Grommash growled.

Aleeria crossed her arms, making her glittering dress tingle with the shift and looking away with a sniff. "Oh, now you want my company?" she pursed her lips. "No 'How have you been, Aleeria?' or 'I missed you too after skipping town overnight, Aleeria'?"

Grommash rose, drawing himself up to his full height as he stepped towards the Draenei, just tall enough to glare down at her. "You know something and you are going to tell me."

"I have no idea what you're braying about," Aleeria returned, not looking at him, then added on a petulant tone: "I thought you had come to visit me."

Grommash narrowed his amber eyes at her. She was being difficult, why? She must know something. However, he knew from experience it was no use to try and grill her. She'd clam up like a pro and play that ditzy façade until it made him explode. And then it would be his fault. He could still all but hear Orgrim lecture him on it. Aleeria looked at him from the corner of her eyes, but when their gazes crossed she looked away again, lifting her perky nose slightly higher still. Fine, he could play her game.

Grommash rolled his shoulders and relaxed his posture with a snorted sigh that seemed to rumble up straight from his chest. He dropped himself back onto the couch, slouching with his legs lazily apart. "I've been waiting a while," he remarked, his tone a bored drawl as he licked the base of his left tusk. "Made me think you don't want me to come for you."

Aleeria's pout slowly turned into a smile that played at the corner of her lips as she unfolded her arms and sauntered after him. "I always like it when you come, sugar," she replied as she sat down on the armrest, her thigh brushing against his hand. Grommash pressed his fingertips into the soft flesh of her leg, watching the silver fabric of her dress crease. She was going somewhere. There were many things Aleeria wore for herself, but this particular dress was most definitely not one of them. He remembered well her complains about the fancy fabric chaffing despite it's soft appearance. She was going somewhere, but where... His fingers found the split in the shimmering cloth on memory alone.

Aleeria smiled truly at the little grunt that escaped him when she felt his warm palm press against her thigh. She'd always found the unintentional noises he made endearing. "I hadn't thought I'd ever see you again," she said softly, leaning onto her hand and into his touch.

Grommash glanced up at her words, momentarily caught off guard by how genuine they sounded. There was sadness in her blue eyes he hadn't quite expected. He scowled, hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her off the armrest and into his lap. Her yelp and her bum landing against his crotch not at all unwelcome. "Can't leave you in this dump, can I?" he growled as he leaned down to her, pressing his nose against hers and nuzzling roughly. "I should have dragged you with me when I left."

"Grom!" Aleeria exclaimed, then all but giggled as she nuzzled back. "I have a show, you're creasing my dress!"

"Show?" Grommash grunted as he put his hand under her dress again, pushing the shimmering cloth up towards her waist as he touched the curve of her hip, fingering the thin cords that held her undergarments together. "Nobody cares about your dress, it's going to come off anyway," he rumbled as he pressed his tusks against her neck, nipping at the warm flesh. "Your smooth skin though..."

"Not that kind of show," she returned, yet despite her indignant tone she put an arm around his thick neck, keeping him against her as she trailed her hand across his chest and down to the front of his pants. "I'll be singing!"

"I prefer screaming," Grom muttered against her ear as he flexed his hips towards her touch.

Aleeria giggled again, unabashedly pressing her hand against his pants and rubbing his shaft through his jeans. "You'll have to try harder for that!"

"Is that a challenge?" Grommash growled against her ear as he pulled at the thin cords, trying to get under the cloth, the garment loudly protesting at being stretched so.

"Ye-- Grom, you'll break it!" Aleeria exclaimed.

"If you aren't going to take off that dress, then what does it matter?" He rumbled, nuzzling her neck as he grabbed the cords and yanked them, the short snaps and tear particularly satisfactory. Aleeria gave him a judging look he pointedly ignored as he pressed his hand between her legs, fingertips pressing against the soft, warm skin there. As he trailed his fingers down his thumb brushed past the small ring piercing the little fold of skin just above her entrance. Automatically he ran his nail along the metal, looking for the dent in its surface.

Aleeria smiled when she felt his searching touch, petting the back of his neck as she firmly massaged his loin. She could feel him harden under her insistent touch. Grommash grunted in approval when his nail skipped along the dent. Aleeria turned her head, their gazes meeting from the corners of their eyes.

"I don't do away with gifts," she whispered, her gaze moving to his right tusk. The third hole under the two rings still adorning it had closed, a faint pinprick shadow on the ivory the only sign it had ever been there. She pressed a kiss against the corner of his mouth. "Especially not ones I am fond of."

Grommash looked away. He remembered giving it to her. Noblegarden. What, twelve years ago? At least. What had he been thinking? A sword blow had dented the rings, gauged his tusk, nearly taken his jaw off entirely, during the World Clash war. He'd meant to replace them, but never gotten around to it. And then he'd given one to her. Why had he given it? It was nothing special, just iron. Common. Dented at that! He'd thought she might--what? Use it as an earring? Wear it on a little chain around her neck like the pendant from her father? He snorted derisively.

"Grom." Her hand against his jaw, turning his face back to her. She kissed the bridge of his nose in so far it existed. "It was the best gift."

Grommash grunted, shoving away the nagging feeling he should have given her something nicer. "I like what you did with it."

Aleeria's eyes shone bright with pleasure. "I thought you might," she replied, petting the side of his jaw. It amused her recalling how his already sizeable ego had instantly inflated to twice it's size when she'd first shown him. She'd meant to get something like it for a while, but had been unable to find anything she liked. Certainly, there had been plenty pretty ones at the body artist shops she'd visited. All cold metal and empty sparkles, meaningless and tacky. Regardless of what anyone thought it was – old, iron, worn, ugly? It wasn't "just" anything, to her. A smile curved her lips when she realised it was easily one of her most prized possessions and that she kept it closer than any of the others.

"What are you grinning about?" Grommash rumbled beside her ear, drawing her attention back to him.

"Fond memories," Aleeria replied as their gazes crossed, her eyes squinting with amusement.

"Of?" He inquired, crooking an eyebrow. The quasi offended expression contorting his Orcish features at the notion of her attention wandering away from him made her chuckle.

"You, sugar," she purred in reply. "Who else?"

The mollified noise that escaped Grommash as he nuzzled her jaw made her smile again. Sometimes, it was too easy. She tugged at his belt, her other hand still at the back of his neck, fingers twirling a strand of his thick black hair.

"So, about that scream," Grommash muttered as he stroke her entrance, lightly pressing two fingertips against the damp skin. He breathed in deeply, nostrils flaring, as he drank in the scent of her arousal, heavy and sweet, better than that mimicry they called perfume.

"I did say," Aleeria whispered into his ear as her fingers toyed along the edge of his jeans, stroking his abdomen. "You will have to try har-aah!"

He savoured her cry and the sting of her nails digging crescents into his neck as he thrust his fingers inside her. He pressed his palm up against her, all but devouring her neck as his free hand tangled into her hair. Aleeria mewled when he did it again, leaning into his touch as her hand pawed at his neck as if trying to find purchase on the corded muscles there, the other clutching his belt.

Grommash kept changing his angle, pressing his fingers along her walls, trying to find that spot he knew would wreck her with pleasure, would make her scream for him. A groan rose in his throat when her slender, warm hand wrapped firmly around his shaft. When had she undone his pants? With a grunt he thrust into her hold, the urge to turn her around and mount her overwhelming. But he wanted to hear her scream.

When the clock loudly struck ten behind them she did scream, but not at all for the reason Grommash had wanted her to.

"Oh Light – SHIT!" the Draenei exclaimed, her voice pitching and skipping at least two octaves. "Grom, stop! I'm going to be late!" With a supreme effort of will Grommash pushed himself up on his knuckles. The moment he did she wriggled out from under him and jumped up like Cinderella at the stroke of midnight.

Aleeria reflexively straightened her dress and fussed with her hair, trying to ignore her screaming nerves, tense with denied release. "Where's my purse?" she exclaimed. She stood – trembling on her hooves – but she stood, hands fidgeting at her dress once more as she cast her gaze around.

"You didn't bring one," Grommash growled. His breathing came up heavy, his mouth open to accommodate it. His amber eyes still hooded. Aleeria felt awful for having to leave him in this state but this show might be her only chance. She couldn't afford to miss it. Not even for him.

"I'm sorry, Grom," Aleeria pleaded as she leaned towards him. He reached for her first and kissed her fiercely, tusks pressing against her face as he felt her soft lips part against his. "I'll make it up to you," she promised against his mouth, his head in her hands. Her eyes were sad again.

A breath later she was walking away, fast, her tail twitching with anxiety, but all Grommash really saw was the roll of her bum under her quick step. He could still feel her soft skin under his fingertips. Smell her sweet scent. Snorting in deep breaths he forced down the urge to storm after her. To snatch her up. To --- later. She'd never left him hanging before, it must be important. She'd be singing, she'd said without a hint of it being a euphemism. With a frustrated growl he let himself fall back onto the couch, scowling at the ceiling. She was gone, he was none the wiser and not at all sure he could stand.

"You poor baby." He recognised the stifling perfume, more so than the voice. "I could have warned you of this, she can be terrible you know."

Despite the situation, Grommash' hackles rose instantly at the jab. He was tempted to howl, really was, but then he might as well call the New Standard to announce he'd returned. Instead, he turned his head, baring his tusks and pouring all his rage in the snarl. The Night Elf visibly paled and backed up. When he snap at her, she turned and bolted. With a mollified snort he settled back into the couch, trying to clear his head. This night couldn't possibly get worse.

It took a few minutes but then Grommash felt more or less in control of himself again. With a sigh that flared his nostrils he pulled his pants up. His erection had softened, though the denied pleasure still lingered petulantly somewhere in the general vicinity of his stomach. It didn't help that he could still smell her. He scowled severely. She'd messed with his head more than he cared to admit and certainly more than he'd expected. Sitting up he opened his eyes. Everything was still exactly the same – ladies at the bar, suits playing cards. No, the mercenary had left. He narrowed his eyes at the empty spot beside the elevators. When had he left? Had he still been there when Aleeria had showed up? When she'd left? He couldn't recall. Snorting in annoyance he shook his head, as if that would jog his memory.

It was then that he noticed the crumpled little thing on the corner of the couch, it's black velvet all but camouflaged against the dark leather. A smile twitched behind his left tusk as he picked up the torn undergarment. At least he wasn't going completely around the bend, the lingering scent quite obviously came from the delicate cloth. Grommash inhaled deeply, his gaze lingering on the glass doors through which Aleeria had left. He had no idea where she'd gone. Too bad he couldn't sniff her out. The grin fully unfurled around his tusks at the notion.

No use standing around though. Grommash grabbed his trench coat as he stuffed the mistreated underwear into the back pocket of his jeans. Shrugging the coat on he stalked towards the doors. He wasn't following her because he wanted to fuck her, he told himself, he was following her because she had information he needed. Information she had wriggled out of giving. The fact that they had practically been about to fuck on that couch had nothing to do with it.

He stepped out onto the porch, peering into the dark street. The drizzle had turned into actual rain. For a moment he entertained images of Aleeria, her thin dress drenched and sticking to her figure, the blue skin obvious through the silvery cloth, and the click of her hooves as she hurried down the pavement. It was nonsense, of course, she'd have called a taxi or perhaps someone had been there to pick her up.

Where could she have gone? His hand had wandered to the back pocket of his jeans, fingering the delicate cloth. Too bad he couldn't sniff her out, he wouldn't have minded trying. It was no use though, certainly not with the rain. All he could smell was ripe mud. She'd said she'd be singing and only singing, for that matter. Now how many reasonably respectable establishments like that could there be in this area of New Stromgarde? And how many of them could possibly have a gorgeous blue Draenei singing tonight? He'd find her, literal scent or not. He grinned as he crossed the street, not minding the chase as much after all.


End file.
